


burning stars

by killkissbe



Category: Red Sparrow
Genre: F/M, Gen, Spoilers, reference to forced prostitution, reference to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killkissbe/pseuds/killkissbe
Summary: It's months after she hears the music before Dominika sees Nate again. Set post-film.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “The whole time I was hoping my silence would fit yours and exclamation marks would gently float across time and space so that boundaries would be crossed; the whole time I was praying you would read my eyes and understand what I was never able to understand. See, we were never about butterflies. We’ve always been about burning stars. All about us is unearthly and radiant.” 
> 
> ― Anna Akhmatova

It’s months before Dominika sees Nate again. She starts to wonder if she ever will, if the music that he sent to her was a mistake or perhaps something he came to regret. She wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case. While everything had become clear in the end, she’d risked his trust in the process.

Well, and risked his _life_. She can’t totally disregard that part. It seems that their lives are meant to be walked, as the Americans say, on _eggshells_. Never quite capable of dismissing distrust. Never quite capable of falling in love.

Because it _is_ love, isn’t it? When you realise that you are more a patriot to a person than a place. So much of Dominika’s perception of love has been skewed. All she’s known is lust, for so long, that she finds herself quick to believe the incident with the music had been a trick of her tortured mind.

But it wasn’t. It isn’t. Not this time.

Days turn into weeks and Dominika not-quite-settles into life in America, in Chicago – a place they are told is cold but knows nothing of the icy aftermath of the Iron Curtain. Her mother is happy and for a while that’s all that concerns her. There are doctors here that say they can make things better. Dominika tries to believe them.

She tries to distract herself, too, looking into the process of becoming a teacher at a dancing school. She may not be able to move with the same grace she once did but she knows _how_ to. She could never forget – of course, she’s tried.

She’s tried to forget so much, mostly in ways the doctors that care for her mother would call unsafe. They don’t know unsafe. They haven’t felt the crack of their bones breaking, had the blood of a dying man drop into their skin. She refuses to let herself be judged and yet ever inch of her existence is filled with judgment.

Judgment and longing. She’s almost given up when the music comes down the line – that same song he’d used to tell her he was still alive, the same one she’d danced to when she was young and naive. She’s about to hang up when the piece finishes but then there’s more.

An automated voice.

An address.

A place to meet: A Russian restaurant at noon.

"Subtle, Nate." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rising from the past, my shadow is running in silence to meet me.”
> 
> ― Anna Akhmatova

As they eat, Nate and Dominika mostly remain in silence save for banter about the weather and how her mother is faring in the new apartment he’d helped to arranged. Not that they talk about that part – not his help, not the money, nor why he chose Chicago of all the places she could have built her new life stateside.

 _Was it because of the Joffrey Ballet,_ she finds herself wondering, _is it possible he made such a choice on purpose or did it all come down to coincidence?_ Not that Dominika believes much in coincidence. Her uncle had taught her that much. Accidents and coincidence might as well have been the fairytales that her mother would tell her as she grew from child into young girl. Those same stories that she’d eye with the skepticism she eyed those that surrounded her – a strong belief that she was better than fantasy when it turned out fantasy would be what fuelled her.

What saved her.

“Dominika?” Sometimes, she forgets her real name, even from her mother’s mouth. Even from Nate’s. She often finds herself wondering how different things would have been if she hadn’t shared her identity with him that fateful day. Would he be dead now? Probably. That had been the point of it all, hadn’t it?

"–what?”

“I asked if you wanted dessert,” Nate says, smile wry. He knows he’s caught her in a moment of wondering. Wandering. “ _Ptichie Moloko?”_

Dominika shakes her head and Nate frowns in turn. It’s not like her, but the thought of Russian sweets suddenly make her think of her uncle – as if he’s ever far from her mind. “No, no, I can’t stomach that much sugar right now,” she says. “Take me back to your place.”

It’s very much an order, right out of the mouth of a Sparrow. Nate should be used to it by now, he knows, but it still catches him a little off guard. He nods, though, waves for the check. Of course he pays.

They don’t discuss where he’s living now but he’s staying in a hotel and Dominika’s sure to outsiders as they walk in that she looks like a whore. He takes her hand all the same and they say nothing until they’ve reached his door, until they’re inside the room and she’s quickly searched for any sign of a wire, a faulty seam in the door.

She doesn’t check him, though, just folds her arms around him and lets silent tears flow.

“You hated me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You do not know just what you've been forgiven.” 
> 
> ― Anna Akhmatova

For a moment, Nate doesn’t let himself move. He knows the discussion that they need to have. He knows the skeletons rattling in the closet just a few steps away from their embrace. Right now, though, he just needs to remember that there’s a reason he trust Dominika in the first place.

“–Nate?” Of course, she would choose this very moment to become talkative. He sighs, slow and sad, before stepping back to look at her. She’s beautiful, of course, maybe more so than the last time he saw her. Then again, the last time that he saw her hadn’t been a good look on _either_ of them.

“Say something.”

He scrubs his hand over his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I hated you. I thought – I thought you’d fucked me over. No, I thought you’d _fucked_ me, _tortured_ me, and _then_ fucked me over.”

“You _hate_ me,” Dominika corrects, turning her head away from him. She can’t stand to look at him. She can’t even stand to look at herself – but what Sparrow can?

“No. I _hated_ you because I _thought_ you did those things. Now I… well, I see why you _had_ to. I see your end game. And the end justified the means. Skin grater and all.”

She scrunches up her nose, evidently having fought to keep the memories of the night she had to help torture the possible love of her life at bay. She’d known she wasn’t killing him, of course, but that hadn’t made it any less difficult. “Don’t bring that up,” she tells him.

“I still have the scar.”

“Shut up!”

He smiles and she wants to hate him for it. That charm – all American. Growing up, she’d been warned about boys like him. Of course, she’d also been warned about men like her uncle.

“I forgive you,” Nate says, meeting her eyes. “I forgave you the moment I realized what was going on. And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Dominika is baffled.

“For hating you for even a split goddamn second, Dom.”

She drops her gaze again. She hadn’t expected an apology. The hatred, yes, wasn’t that the nature of being a spy? A double agent? She’d made so many enemies she can’t keep track. And no doubt made so many missteps that will one day come back. Nothing she'd ever be forgiven for. Nothing she deserves to be forgiven for. “You sound like a man in a movie.”

“A good one?”

“Shut up,” she says again, not caring if he means a good man or a good movie, and pushes him toward the bed because if she doesn’t fuck him soon she’ll go fucking insane.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If you were music, I would listen to you ceaselessly, and my low spirits would brighten up.” 
> 
> ― Anna Akhmatova
> 
> This chapter is especially dialogue heavy – sorry.

For a while, Nate snores. It’s endearing until it’s _annoying_ and Dominika can’t herself fall asleep, and so she gently nudges him awake before pretending to be none the wiser.

“You’re still awake,” he drawls sleepily, looking over at her. She’s wearing nothing but a thin sheet and the light that’s coming in through the open window. “Can’t sleep?”

Dominika hides her smile and her guilt. “Something like that.”

“Thinking?”

“ _Always_ ,” she answers, then lets herself smile. She really didn’t imagine she’d get another one of these moments. She didn’t even imagine that she’d get to know that Nate was still _alive_. That was the nature of their work – _is_ the nature of his work. There aren't obituaries for spies. “About Moscow.”

Nate nods and says nothing, figuring if this is one of the moments Dominika dares to be honest and forthcoming he’s not about to stop her.

“I did not expect to miss it,” she says. “I am so lucky to have my mother here but… it’s not enough. Not yet, at least.”

Nate thinks for a moment and starts to ask: “Is there another city–”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It is what it is. We’re lucky to be here at all. We’re lucky we’re not…”

He cuts her off. “Worm food?”

"You are so… _crass_.”

“You can say gross.”

“You can say _nothing_ ,” Dominika tells him, leaning over to press her mouth against his. She doesn’t know how many more meetings they’ll have like this. She knows they can’t have a life together, not if Nate wants to keep doing what he’s doing. She’ll take as many kisses as she can. “I missed that. What have you missed?”

“I’ve missed… _everything_ ,” Nate answers. A perfect gentleman. “Everything.”

“What about _other_ than me?” Dominika asks. She’s not searching for compliments; she’s heard enough of them, words uttered by men who wanted more than she was ready to give. Tonight, she wants honesty. She wants to hear something he hasn’t told the other girls.

Nate makes a face but turns his body so he’s facing her properly, propped up on one elbow. “Trusting the guy in the street. The girl in the bar. The kid with the fuckin’ iPod on the bus.”

“Me too,” Dominika says, nodding. She smirks, then, she can’t resist and pretends to whisper: “iPods are _very_ suspicious.”

“ _Dom_. You’re making fun of me.”

“You’re very easy to make fun of,” she says, pulling the sheet closer to her neck. “You _Americans_.”

He snorts, points toward the window. “You’re _in_ America, you realize?”

“Is that what all the big yellow Ms are?”

Now Nate really laughs. God, who wouldn’t fall in love with her? That’s kind of the point, he guesses. It's what she was trained in, but it's also just who she is. “The Golden Arches. McDonald’s. They don’t have them in Moscow?”

“Not quite so many.” Of course she knows what McDonald’s is. She also knows what flirting is. She was taught all about it, after all. “Is that what you want for dinner?”

“We _had_ dinner.”

“Oh, sorry, _dessert_.”

“We had _that_ too. Twice, if you don't recall,” he grins. "I recall that you recall."

She rolls her eyes. “I would curse you in Russian but unfortunately you speak it better than any American I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“If you wish,” she says, then moves her body so that he can wrap his arms around her. Dominika can see out the window, feel the breeze. She imagines someone in the building across from them, watching. She can’t help it. 

She also can’t help that all she feels in this moment is contentment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You will hear thunder and remember me,  
> and think: she wanted storms.”
> 
> ― Anna Akhmatova

In the morning, they make for the pool that Dominika is sure Nate selected this hotel specifically for. There are no lanes, just leisure, and gratefully just the two of them as they dive into the cool depths.

“So much chlorine,” Dominika blinks, reaching back to pull her wet hair into a ponytail before swimming breaststroke over to Nate. She smiles at him, all at once tired from a night of lovemaking and energised by his presence. “The temperature is acceptable, though.”

“Acceptable, huh?” he asks, slipping his arms around her waist. The teasing, the taunting, it’s just part of who they are – what they are. Neither would have it any other way. “I’m glad all of this is to your liking.”

Dominika nods and then for a long moment just looks at Nate. She knows this a piece of time to cherish, one that she might not get back. She wishes for a camera in her head so she can record it, relive it, instead of relying on memory. But life doesn’t work like that.

“What comes next?” she asks him, lifting her hand to push away droplets of water from his forehead. “For you? I imagine Chicago is only temporary.”

Nate nods but doesn’t speak. Doesn’t want to.

“Where will you go next?”

“I don’t know. You know that.”

“But you will go.”

Nate nods again.

“Will I see you again?” Dominika asks, not desperate, just matter-of-fact. She cannot expect more than this. When she broke her leg, when she became a Sparrow, all expectations went out the window. “Here?”

Again, Nate shakes his head and doesn’t move to speak. They’re better when they don’t speak. Instead, he presses his forehead against hers, closes his eyes and exhales. In a perfect world, they would find somewhere in the suburbs to live. Maybe have kids. Maybe get a dog or a goldfish.

This isn’t a perfect world.

“Dom,” he says. “I’m leaving for HQ tomorrow. I wanted – I needed to see you, see that you were settling in, see that your mother…”

“…we are Egorovas. We will always manage, with or without help.”

He pauses.

She sighs: “But we are grateful for the help.”

“I know.”

They separate then, alternating swimming in circles together and apart – silent. There is so much to say and yet nothing that will change anything. All there is left to do is enjoy each other’s company and all at once hope and not dare to. They met at a pool. The first _real_ time, at least. It makes sense this would be the last time for them. 

Beginnings and endings are so much the same – both filled with relief and pain.

By the time they climb out of the pool and into each other’s arms, their skin has grown wrinkled and they reek of chemicals. Still, they kiss, used to this. Nate wraps a towel that’s miraculously big enough for them both around their shoulders and pads toward the elevator. They’ll go up and shower together, have sex and more sex, and then say goodbye.

They might not ever see each other again, but for now it’s enough to know that they’re both alive.


End file.
